


A Promise Kept

by akamww3



Series: Encounters [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mollcroft, Post-TAB (but no real spoilers), Pre-Relationship, Sexual Content (Mature)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 07:40:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5735341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamww3/pseuds/akamww3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes is a man who keeps his promises. He had no motive other than that in calling Molly Hooper and certainly had no intention of instigating a repeat of their … encounter. Or <em>did</em> he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Promise Kept

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  [WaitingForTheThaw](http://waitingforthethaw.tumblr.com/)

Mycroft Holmes strode at a brisk pace but with his usual fluid motion across the busy reception hall, up the sweeping arc of stairs, and down the wide corridor, his long legs eating up the distance while his personal assistant quickstepped behind him. He was aware at some level that the path ahead abruptly cleared as people saw him coming … those few who knew him, or knew _of_ him, and generally assumed they had good reason to avoid drawing his attention … others who’d simply caught a glimpse of his stony expression and hard-set mouth and promptly scuttled out of an abundance of caution.

Mycroft eventually paused outside an imposing set of heavily paneled doors, giving Anthea a moment to catch up before he reached for the handle. By the time the doors closed behind them, the sleek blonde sitting at an elegant writing desk on the far side of the outer office was on her feet and greeting them with a coolly professional smile. “Good morning, Mr. Holmes. Please go right in … she’s expecting you.”

Anthea watched as her boss gave the interior door a triple tap with his umbrella handle before swinging the door open.

_“My_ croft.” The husky greeting rang out from deep within the office.  

“Lady Smallwood.” His even tone was polite, but with no reciprocation of that hint of pleasure both PAs had detected in the security official’s greeting.

Cynthia’s gaze shifted to Anthea’s as the door shut behind Mycroft with a quiet click. “Tea?”

~~~~~

Anthea stood when the inner door opened half an hour later. Mycroft’s gaze met hers and Anthea quickly gathered her things, thanked Cynthia and made a beeline for the outer door. Mycroft’s expression might appear pleasant enough to the uninitiated, but his eyes looked dead.

As their car smoothly merged into the mid-morning traffic, Mycroft sat looking out the window, legs crossed, seemingly relaxed, but from the corner of her eye Anthea noticed the slight flexing of his foot. "Sir?” She had counted to five by the time Mycroft turned to look at her, eyebrows raised questioningly, and she immediately regretted breaking what had been a relatively companionable silence. “Is Lady Smallwood willing to present your proposal to the Home Secretary?”

Mycroft faced forward again, then replied after a few moments in a soft, even voice, “Not when I’m unable to assure her that my brother would actually comply with its terms.” His foot flexed again after having briefly paused while he’d considered his answer. Her boss, she thought, was furious.

“Surely that’s not unexpected, sir.” Anthea bit her lip when Mycroft’s foot stilled again.

“Unexpected,” he repeated slowly. “No, not unexpected.”

~~~~~

_Unexpected._ Mycroft mused on the word again several hours later as he sat back from his laptop and settled deeper into his desk chair. _Of all the people in the world with whom to … ‘thaw,’_ he grimaced, well aware of the soubriquet he’d earned around the corridors of Whitehall and in certain corners of the world beyond. _All it took was a pair of warm brown eyes and the curious touch of a gentle hand for the Ice Man’s usual self-control to fail and without any real attempt to regain it._

For Mycroft to have participated in an impromptu sexual encounter was improbable to say the least, but even more inconceivable was that it had been Molly Hooper who’d slipped through the temporary crack in his defenses and kindled such an ardent response. She had the distinction of being one of the few people who had truly surprised him in recent years. _Sherlock’s most accommodating goldfish._ Mycroft felt a twinge of self-reproach at that characterization. The feeling intensified when he considered his promise to call her. Was she still expecting a call from him a week on? Had it actually been a promise? Wasn’t it simply what one said to exit such a situation gracefully?

Mycroft sighed. It had been a promise.

~~~~~

“Hello?”

“Miss Hooper?”

Silence.

Mycroft checked the screen, then returned the mobile to his ear in time to hear Molly finally respond. “Mr. Holmes.”

Mycroft wasn’t used to being wrong-footed, and it took him a moment to change tack. “Molly?”

“Mycroft.” At least her tone was less frosty.

He stopped himself from clearing his throat. “Are you well, my dear?”

“I am,” she said evenly. “And you?”

“Fine.” Another silence. Mycroft was a bit nonplussed at Molly’s cool reception since they’d parted on friendly enough terms ... rather an understatement, he thought, considering the passion and enthusiasm with which she’d taken him into her -

“Do you need something, Mycroft? It’s just that I’m at the lab and –”

“Of course you are,” he said briskly, ignoring the tingling warmth at the tips of his ears. “No, but I had promised to call –”

“And now you have,” she broke in, equally briskly, then added after a moment, “I’m sorry, Mycroft, but if you’re sure you don’t need anything –”

“You have to go,” Mycroft finished for her and returned the mobile to his pocket after they exchanged brief goodbyes. He thought there’d been a touch of curiosity in Molly’s voice at the end, but no real interest. Then again, he didn’t know her well enough to be sure. And he never would.

Mycroft had done what he’d promised and that, as they say, was that.

~~~~~

Molly looked up at the knock on her open door and waved her hand toward the chair across from her desk. “What can I do for you, John,” she asked, smiling as she set her pen down. “Are you here on your own?” Her brow creased at seeing the obvious strain on his face.

John shook his head grimly. “No, but I thought I’d let them get the initial war of words out of the way, plus I wanted to warn you.”

“Warn me about what?”

“Sherlock’s been – um, he’s been a bit out of sorts lately so don’t take it personally if he’s even more unpleasant than usual.”

Molly stilled as John’s “them” finally filtered through her brain. She froze when she heard Sherlock’s quick footsteps nearing the door, tilting her head as she listened for a second pair of feet, then straightened, relieved, at not hearing them. “Hello, Sherlock.”

“Molly.” He didn’t look at her, but instead scowled at John. “Why are you just sitting there? Why didn’t you bring Molly to the morgue?”

“I just got here, you great git –”

“You abandoned me to deal with Mycroft alone,” Sherlock broke in, huffing in annoyance.

Molly deliberately knocked her pen to the floor and then slowly bent to retrieve it, stomach clenching as she fought to hide her sudden lightheadedness. She hoped both men were too busy glaring at each other to notice anything amiss.

Sherlock released a long breath, then jerked his thumb toward the open door. “Would the two of you come _on!”_

“Sorry, Molly,” John said, getting to his feet as Sherlock stalked out with a swirl of his Belstaff. He frowned when he got a good look at her. “Are you all right? Do you need me to get you a drink of water?”

“I’m fine, John – just felt a bit lightheaded when I bent over,” she said, smiling ruefully. “I’ve been so busy I forgot to have lunch.”

_“JOHN! MOLLY!”_

Molly rolled her eyes as she rounded her desk and preceded John out the door, bracing herself to meet Mycroft again. And in front of his all-too-observant brother.

~~~~~

Molly moved to the other side of the post-mortem table, glancing toward Mycroft without meeting his eyes, “Excuse me, Mr. Holmes.”

“Oh for _god’s_ sake, Molly! Mycroft’s not going to bite you,” Sherlock groused, then scowled at his brother. “Unless you drizzled your body with ganache and even then it’d be highly unlikely that brother dear would willingly have masticatory contact with a _woman.”_

Sherlock’s eyes were focused on his brother so he missed the startled glance Molly threw at him before staring wide-eyed at Mycroft. How could Sherlock be so blind? The skill and ease Mycroft had displayed when pleasuring Molly didn’t just happen instinctively – it came from experience. Molly suddenly realized Sherlock had gone off on another tangent and Mycroft was returning her stare, his face set in its usual neutral lines, but his eyes … _oh dear god_. Molly lowered her gaze and turned back to the body, trying to focus on what Sherlock was saying. Instead, all she could think of was how Mycroft’s skin had felt pressed to hers in the aftermath of sex, how a fine sheen of sweat had caused his chest hair to curl, how his ragged breathing in the crook of her neck had sent shivers down her spine.

Mycroft was standing behind her at a discreet distance, hands folded on the handle of his umbrella, but Molly felt smothered … as if he was crowding her, as if he was close enough for his body heat to surround her. Was it her imagination that his eyes were boring a hole in her spine -

“Molly?”

Molly started at Sherlock’s annoyed inquiry, then shook off the distraction and focused her full attention on him. “‘Masticatory?’ _Ewww,_ Sherlock.”

He looked at her incredulously. _“_ What _are_ you going on about, Molly – get over here.”

~~~~~

Two days later, Molly stopped on the pavement outside the pub where she was meeting some friends for lunch and turned to look at the shiny black four-door saloon that had pulled to a stop a few feet away from her. As she watched, the window slowly lowered to reveal Mycroft’s driver, whose gaze met hers for a moment before his hand emerged from the car holding a small envelope between index and middle fingers. “Miss Hooper?”

Molly stepped forward, gingerly took the crisp white envelope in a manner to ensure she wouldn’t touch his fingers, and then stepped back. She glanced at the driver, but he’d turned his head to face forward. She hesitated a few moments, then carefully opened the flap and pulled out a white calling card in a high quality cardstock, wove finish, with **MH** engraved in black lettering in the upper left corner and an engraved phone number centered on the card. She turned it over. A note in black ink written in a slanted masculine hand said, “Call on me at any time should you need my assistance.”

Molly slid the card back into its envelope and tapped it against her thigh. She then glanced up and to the side, directly at the nearest CCTV camera, before turning to cross the pavement and enter the pub. Once inside, she slipped the card into a zippered pocket in her handbag, then made her way through the crowded room to her friends’ table.

~~~~~

The next morning, Molly set her hairbrush down and raised a hand toward the card she’d wedged inside the frame of the vanity table mirror. She flipped up the corner, studied the handwriting on the back, and then smoothed the card against the cool glass before dropping her hand and turning away.

Having to cope with the drama and frenetic activity of _one_ Holmes brother on a semi-regular basis was stressful enough. Not to mention Sherlock’s rather Byronic good looks … which had, she thought with surprise, lost most of their power over her of late. All it took to spoil their effect these days was for Sherlock to open his mouth and speak.

On the other hand, further exposure to Mycroft’s surprisingly intense sexual allure could prove fatal to her recently acquired equanimity. She wouldn’t put herself at risk of falling for Mycroft, no matter how blissful experiencing _la petite mort_ with him again might be.

~~~~~

Molly found herself staring at the blasted card the next evening, but was able to distract herself with one of her favorite DVDs.

The following night, she’d entered the first five digits of Mycroft’s number before angrily swiping the screen, muting the phone and going to bed. After two hours, she was still clutching the extra pillow to her and staring at the ceiling, by then left with imagining the worst-case scenarios if she simply gave in to temptation and called Mycroft.

~~~~~

In the end, Molly’s resolve failed at a most inconvenient time. _Atrocious_ even, she thought. Half past eleven on a Wednesday night, the middle of the workweek, and yet …

_\-- Tea?_

There was no way Mycroft would see her text, or, if he did, no way that he’d respond to it so late at night – then Molly gasped, startled by the text alert.

_\-- When?_

One typed word from Mycroft and Molly’s breathing escalated almost to the point of hyperventilation. She paced across the sitting room and back again, trying to calm down. A minute passed before she tried to type on the mobile’s keyboard, which had obviously shrunk to half-size based on the difficulty her fingers were having at pressing the correct keys.

_\-- Now?_

She immediately regretted the impractical reply and almost followed it up with a “sorry-just-kidding.” Two extremely long minutes elapsed and then –

_\-- An hour?_

_\-- Fine.  Will leave a key on the lintel._

~~~~~

Molly spent the first ten minutes mulling over the unexpected turn of events, then suddenly yelped and hurried to the bedroom. After a quick change of sheets, a fluff of pillows, dirty clothes tossed in the laundry basket, she grabbed a fresh pair of shorty pajamas and her dressing gown and headed for the shower. Twenty minutes later, she took a quick inventory of the pantry and refrigerator, identifying several choices of drinks and nibbles and confirming she had breakfast makings if the need should arise.

With ten minutes to spare, she returned to the bedroom to brush her hair. Having time to consider her appearance in the mirror, and thus to suffer significant angst over it, only confirmed that the impromptu nature of their previous time together had made it a lot less nerve-racking. Her head jerked to the side when she heard the three light taps, then the sound of the key in the door. She gave herself one last wild-eyed glance, then tried to stroll casually toward the entry.

“Hello,” she said – nonchalantly, she hoped.

Mycroft hung his umbrella on a hook then turned to her with a brief smile. “Good evening, Molly,” he said as he unwound his scarf.

Molly ran her eyes down his overcoat and dark gray trousers and noticed the suit bag on the floor by his feet. “What’s that?”

“A fresh suit,” he said, lifting a brow.

“You’re taking a lot for granted –”

“Am I?” When Molly flushed, he continued. “Your text wasn’t clear as to whether the invitation was for a quick cuppa or for a more lengthy meal,” he said thoughtfully. When he continued, his tongue was most definitely in his cheek. “Doing justice to a proper high tea takes a considerable amount of time, and I have to be at the office very early.”

Molly deliberately turned away, her flush deepening when he started to remove his overcoat. “May I?” She asked, not waiting for a response before removing his umbrella from the hook and fingering its handle curiously. She’d upended it and was inspecting the tip when Mycroft slipped his arms around her from behind and carefully took the umbrella from her. Once he’d placed it back on the hook, he lightly encircled Molly with his arms and rested his chin on her shoulder, then said, “You need to be careful, my dear. My umbrella has a sensitive release mechanism and can spring open unexpectedly and catch you by surprise.”

Molly’s breathing quickened. “Do you really want me to make tea?”

“It’s too late, don’t you think,” Mycroft said, then loosened his arms when Molly twisted around to face him. When she stared up at him, he felt the same loss of restraint as before, and then his hands were in her hair, tilting her head back, studying her face as her eyes widened and her color rose … and then they were in each other’s arms, claiming each other’s lips in sudden urgency. When they finally pulled away to breathe, Molly gasped against his throat, “Oh _god_ … _what are we doing? How is this possible?”_

Mycroft pulled her mouth back to his, and both of them moaned. When Molly lifted onto her toes and slid her arms around his neck, Mycroft dragged his hands down her back and over her bottom, and then caused Molly to gasp when his hands moved even lower and curved under her cheeks and between her legs. He picked her up and she did as he urged, separating her legs and then crossing her ankles around his back when he lifted her against him … and there they paused, foreheads pressed together, breathing unsteadily.

After a few moments, Mycroft’s chest rose when he took a deep breath and straightened, shifting his hands under Molly’s bottom and hitching her high enough to lay her head on his shoulder. “We’re still in the entry,” he observed, sounding amused.

Molly lifted her head and glanced around before meeting his eyes. “So we are,” she said, then lifted her brows. “Do you need an invitation to take me to bed?” Mycroft kissed her again, then started walking across the sitting room, and Molly found being carried against him like that highly arousing, as was being kissed by him, breathing the same air … Her fingers loosened the knot of his tie, then pulled the ends free so she could undo the top buttons of his shirt. She spread his collar open and rubbed her nose against the hollow of his throat and then breathed deeply. _“Mmm,_ you smell so good,” she said before pressing several kisses against his skin.

Mycroft maneuvered them through the bedroom door while blocking the efforts of Toby to get around him, then shut the door with his foot and crossed to the bed, lowering Molly to the edge. She raised her hands to unbuckle his belt and push the button of his trousers through its hole, then fell back on the bed and stretched her arms to the sides, arching a brow.

Mycroft undressed less carefully than before, most likely because he had a change of suit this time, she thought. When he was down to his pants, he leaned forward to take Molly’s hands and pull her into a sitting position. “Do you need help with your pajamas?” Molly huffed, then grabbed the hem of her top and pulled it over her head before glancing up at him. She flushed when she saw he was studying her breasts, then quickly lifted her bottom and slid her sleep shorts off before tossing them with the top to the floor behind her. She caught her breath when he pushed his pants down and his cock sprang free. She started to reach for him, but he ran his hand down the outside of her right thigh and under her knee and basically flipped her over … quite slowly and gently to be sure, but she didn’t know it was happening until she was on her stomach.

Molly held her breath, waiting for his next move, then released it in a rush when Mycroft climbed onto the bed and shifted onto his knees beside her. He curved his hands around her shoulders, then worked his way down her upper back, massaging her with firm pressure until he took hold of her waist and lifted her up and onto her knees and then urged her backward until she was sitting on his thighs. He then slid his hands around her waist and cupped her breasts in his palms, pressing her back against his chest as he gently squeezed and massaged her, then caught her nipples between his thumbs and fingers. When he nuzzled her nape and nibbled his way around the side of her neck and across her shoulder, Molly shivered and then shifted to grind down onto one of his thighs. She could feel him pressing against the small of her back but couldn’t reach him, and then her breath caught when he released her breast and slid that hand down the middle of her torso to work his hand between her thighs. “Mycroft,” she moaned, _“please_ let me touch you.”

_“Shhh …,”_ he murmured by her ear, sending another shiver down her spine. “Spread your knees a little.” She did and he scissored his fingers between her folds, rubbing and pressing deep, until Molly arched back against him with a guttural groan and began to undulate her pelvis … rubbing herself against his hand, breath quickening. Mycroft hurriedly pulled his fingers out of her and let go of her breast to take hold of her waist again. He lifted her onto her knees as he straightened onto his, then slowly bent over her, pressing her forward to brace herself on her hands, and Molly gave a low moan when the hard length of his penis was suddenly aligned properly and she could finally rub against him. He stretched a hand to the bedside table and grabbed a condom, then used his thigh to spread hers wider and positioned himself more fully between her legs. He slowly penetrated her, then flexed his hips and thrust more firmly upwards until he was fully seated. Molly arched her back and tilted her hips further when he began a rocking motion. “Oh _god,_ Mycroft,” she moaned as he used his weight to push her upper body lower onto the mattress, thus increasing the arch of her hips, and rocked into her more forcefully. _“Ohgodohgodohgod,”_ she panted in time with his thrusts, pushing back hard against him, their skin slapping together. He gripped the sides of her hips and lifted her higher into his thrusts, briefly slowing to deliberate snaps of his pelvis, grunting with the effort. Molly’s breath caught when he pressed closer to slide his hand down her belly and between her legs, fingers stroking her where they were joined and encircling her hardened nub rhythmically as he returned to a fast steady pace. He abruptly changed pace again to short hard thrusts and Molly cried out, her body shaking, breath shuddering. Mycroft pulled his fingers away from her and clutched her hips in a hard grip and pulled almost all the way out, then thrust deep to the hilt, and repeated it, then again, chest heaving as he panted, and then the orgasm ripped through him and tried to take the top of his head with it. He dropped his hands to the bed, bracing himself straight-armed as he pressed his sweaty chest to her back and tried to catch his breath. “Are you all right,” he rasped, and Molly nodded from her head-down position, still panting. After a few moments, Mycroft pushed himself higher and rolled off of Molly, briefly sitting on the side of the bed to remove and tie off the condom, and then collapsing flat on his back, chest still heaving. Molly finally collapsed onto her stomach, face turned to the side to breathe.

When his breathing slowed, Mycroft rolled onto his side, and stroked a hand down Molly’s back. She turned her head to look at him. “If I fall asleep, don’t leave without waking me. That would make me feel like I should look for cash on the bedtable.”

The crease appeared between his brows, but he lifted his chin. “All right.”

Molly’s breathing evened out and she slid her arms under the pillow, closing her eyes with a tired but satisfied sigh. “Good night, Mycroft ... try to get some sleep.” She opened her eyes to look at him as a thought occurred. “Sherlock was wrong yet again. You _did_ get in a bit of masticatory contact with my neck." She closed her eyes again, smiling to herself at his snort.

~~~~~

Mycroft had already taken a shower and was almost ready to leave at half past five. He was sitting on the edge of the bed putting on his shoes when Molly scooted over and pressed her bare breasts against his back. “What do you want from me, Mycroft,” she asked. “Do you want to keep meeting like this?”

He straightened and shifted on the bed, twisting until he faced her. “I can’t make myself available that often, and when I do it might be strange hours like this, or I might get called away in the middle of an evening’s proceedings,” he said. “If you’re willing to put up with that, then yes I would like to keep meeting occasionally.” He studied her expression for a few moments, then asked, “But what about you, Molly – what do you want from me?”

“More of this,” she said, “just this kind of time with you that’s set apart from everything else, that no one but us knows about.” She lowered her forehead to his upper arm. “I don’t need a boyfriend,” she said, grimacing at the term, “but I’d be happy to have a secret lover. That sounds frightfully sophisticated,” she said, smiling as she lifted her head. “Do you think it’s wrong for this to be about the sex?”

“No,” he said, then rose to his feet. “I have to go.” He bent to pick up his phone from the table, then paused and more carefully picked up the key to Molly’s flat. “Here,” he said, offering it to her.

“Keep it,” she said.

Mycroft turned the key between his fingers, then slid his other hand into his trouser pocket and brought out a key ring with three keys on it. His eyes met Molly’s as he added her key to the ring and returned it to his pocket before stooping to give her a brief kiss. “Thank you, Molly Hooper,” he said, then straightened and turned toward the door. “Don’t get up. I can let myself out.” He glanced back, hand on the door knob. “Good night, Molly.”

Molly shook her head. “Good _morning,_ Mycroft,” she corrected him, with a slow smile. “It’s already the start of a new day.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _Edited 7 April 2016 to add:_ It's come to my attention that the "structure" of this series could be confusing. If I'd known Mycroft's and Molly's initial encounter was eventually going to develop into a relationship, I would have started this as a multi-chaptered story instead of a series. Please note that the storyline of this Encounters series is chronological, so reading earlier parts will show how they got to where they are in the respective Part. :)


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